


the act of living

by amuk



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Bittersweet, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Hope, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, Missing Scene, Post-Canon, Rebuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-01-03
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:07:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21878635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amuk/pseuds/amuk
Summary: There is so much rebuilding to do—in Gondor, in Rohan, in Mirkwood, and in Shire. Aragorn has to learn to lead, Eowyn to move forward, Elrond to say goodbye, and Samwise still has a decision to make.
Relationships: Aragorn | Estel & Faramir (Son of Denethor II), Aragorn | Estel & Pippin, Elrond Peredhel & Gandalf | Mithrandir, Frodo Baggins & Sam Gamgee, Merry Brandybuck & Éowyn
Comments: 6
Kudos: 22
Collections: Lord of the Rings Secret Santa 2019





	the act of living

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lynndyre](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lynndyre/gifts).



> Prompt: Something Tolkien-y, please. Intense friendships, people being people, and ultimately hope. I love hurt/comfort of all kinds, missing scenes, adventures, bits of ordinary life, elven or kingly powers, healing, bystander povs and original characters.  
> Maybe something late LOTR or 4th age, Celeborn and Thranduil in the battles under the trees or in the world after. Faramir and Aragorn (and Pippin?) In Gondor, during the rebuilding, or in the city under the king. Glorfindel and the remaining rivendell elves, and the Rangers, and the people and hobbits in Bree and further.
> 
> I’m not happy about the first two pieces in this fic, but I think the rest came out decently enough. :/ I really liked the prompt of post-canon, of what comes after, and making it bitter but also hopeful.

i. Gondor

Despite all the damage to it, Gondor stood strong. It had always done so; years of facing enemy after enemy had weathered it into a resilient place, capable of shaking off injury and keeping a united front. Its people were even more so, their faces as sturdy as the stone that made the city.

This was a comforting thought when directed at their enemies. Less so when it was directed at himself. There were many ways Aragorn thought the people of Gondor would treat him but even the cool indifference of a stranger would have been preferred to the harsh front to an intruder. It was even more apparent when Aragorn rode through the streets, surveying the damage with Faramir and Pippin. As their horses trotted slowly down the winding streets, as they catalogued the various repairs they had to make, Aragorn could feel his people’s eyes on him. For the most part, their gaze was hard, their lips thin, jaw set. The occasional citizen would give him a tentative smile and wave, but the overwhelming feeling was this:

_Who are you to rule us?_

A fair question, perhaps. It wasn’t like he’d grown up here, it wasn’t like they were expecting the king to return. It wasn’t fair to just push him forward as a king in the middle of a war and expect everything to be fine after. Not that Aragorn was sure what he was expecting; he had never wanted this position in the first place.

“It’s not that bad,” Pippin chirped. Seated in front of Aragorn, he glanced up at him. For a moment, Aragorn thought the hobbit had read his mind. “It’ll take a little muscle and spit, but we’ll clean it all up.”

Ah, that made more sense. His friend had thought his dark mood was over the destruction. However clumsy it was, Aragorn was grateful for Pippin’s kindness and he smiled. “Certainly.”

“The people of Gondor are not one to back away from a challenge,” Faramir said from his right. He sat straight on his horse and while there was still something ghostly about him, he looked proud. “We have weathered attacks before. This will be no different.”

“Really?” Pippin furrowed his brows, disbelief on his face. “You guys have fought orcs and wraiths and all of that?”

“Well, perhaps nothing that bad,” Faramir admitted with a chuckle.

“Thought so.” Pippin snorted derisively. “No way anyone can just rebuild after all that.” He gestured at a pile of rubble nearby, soldiers and local citizens creating a chain as they shifted giant rocks to a wooden cart. “Not without a lot of help.”

“Fortunately the elves are assisting,” Faramir answered, glancing at Aragorn with a wry smile. “They said to consider it a wedding present of sorts.”

Aragorn’s eyes widened slightly. “Arwen.” He glanced at the clean up crew once more. Now that he was paying attention, he could see the odd elf in the group, examining the debris and finding the right rock to move next. The folk regarded the elves warily but begrudging accepted the assistance. “How long have they been here?”

“Over a week.” Faramir smiled wryly. “It was a little odd at first but the people have come around to it now.”

“Have they?” Aragorn glanced at Pippin and thought of Boromir. Of Legolas and Gimli. The oddest of companions that were now the closest of friends. There were things that you could only learn by working next to someone, to watching them toil away with you. He tightened his grip on his reins, pulling his horse to a stop.

“Huh?” Pippin thudded against his chest at the sudden stop. Bemused, he stared up. “See something?”

“More of a realization.” Aragorn slipped off his mount. “I’ll go help out.”

He was never the sort to watch from a distance anyways. Aragorn had gotten this far through hard work. This kingship would be no different.

ii. Rohan

“Wow.” Merry stared at the garlands strung up around the Meduseld, his eyes wide with wonder.

“Unexpected, isn’t it?” Eowyn chuckled, amused by her companion’s amazement. To be perfectly honest, she had looked the same earlier. It had been too long since flowers lined the halls of her forefathers, since the cold grey had been washed over with warmth of a blaze and good company. The trifecta of loss, a poisonous influence, and war had left her home less than it ought to have been.

Now, finally, it was returned to its former glory. 

“Yeah, I didn’t think you guys even had flowers,” Merry chirped, examining a wreath on the wall. There was a long silence and then his ears burned a bright red as he realized what he’d said. Turning around, fidgeted nervously. “Not that that’s a bad thing—it looked very noble before—we just have a lot of flowers—”

Eowyn laughed, cutting him off as he cycled through excuses. “No, no, it is understandable. We haven’t had flowers in here for a long time.”

“Oh.” Feeling relieved, Merry smoothened down his shirt with a pleased smile. “It looks good.”

“We’re celebrating our harvest and the end of the war, so I thought we could brighten the place.” Eowyn gestured at the torches that lit up every few metres, ensuring that no darkness pervaded her home. It felt a lot more like it did when she was younger, when her brother used to chase her through these halls and her uncle…

She paused at the thought. He would have liked how it looked, praised her with his gentle smile and kind words.

Eowyn wished she could have seen it. That he could have seen this. Loss, she found, sprung up in the most unexpected of places and every time it took her breath away.

Unaware of her shifting emotions, Merry replied, “So this isn’t everyday? We have flowers everywhere at home, so it’s strange to find places without it.”

He was smiling up at her, bright and unassuming, and Eowyn shook herself out of her thoughts. Her uncle wouldn’t want her to linger, the way he had lingered over her cousin’s death. The best way to honour him was to keep moving forward. Looking down, Eowyn asked “Is that so? I have never seen that many flowers.”

“Well, not everywhere everywhere—definitely not on the toilets cause that’s weird but everywhere else.” Merry stroked his chin thoughtfully. “And maybe not on the paths. The proper ones, that is—the ones that we aren’t supposed to take are chock full of weeds.”

“The ones that get you in trouble?” Eowyn teased, having heard plenty of stories about angry farmers and vegetables.

“It’s only trouble if you get caught!” Merry retorted, crossing his arms. “And I almost never get caught.”

“Hmm, I wonder about that.” Eowyn chuckled. Every description Merry gave of his homeland gave a warm impression. It sounded like place that would produce such wonderful hobbits, such wonderful heroes. “Perhaps I should see for myself?”

Even Farmer Maggot sounded fun to meet. Especially since she wouldn’t be robbing him.

iii. Mirkwood

“I did not expect you to come all the way here,” Thrandruil drawled, each word carefully articulated as though each one was a jab from one of his guard’s spears. Walking through a well-maintained path in Mirkwood, his gaze was ever upward, giving one the impression he was barely paying attention to his companion.

Celeborn knew better than to fall for that. Thrandruil was always alert to his surroundings, however he might act, and it would take one wrong word, one false step to be barred from returning to the forest elves’ realm. “I heard the forest had cleared and thought it was a good time to visit.”

That wasn’t a lie—the forest was brighter than it had been in centuries. The spiders were finished, their webs burned through, and starlight once more graced the elves as they frolicked in the night. Mirkwood was beautiful again.

“It has,” Thranduil admitted with a regal nod of his head. His brow furrowed and scornfully he added, “Though it is the age of man, so who knows how long this shall last.”

“So many elves have departed these days,” Celeborn sighed. “ _Lothlórien_ feels emptier these days, as does Rivendell.”

“As expected. They were never tied to the land like we are,” Thrandruil spit out, contemptuous. “I am only surprised they didn’t leave earlier.”

He should have expected that remark. Despite the time that had passed, Thrandruil’s pride was infamous and it seemed nothing could change that. “You aren’t going to answer the call?”

“One day, maybe.” Thrandriul shrugged dismissively. “Perhaps when my son is tired of playing with dwarves and the sea. Until then, this is my kingdom and I will not abandon it while it still stands.”

“As expected.” Celeborn chuckled. “Galadriel is also considering leaving.”

“And you?” Thrandruil looked at him now, his brow raised curiously. “What will you do?”

“I will join her.” Celeborn clasped his hands behind him, looking up at the starlight through the trees. It glinted off nearby goblets and here still the sound laughter and life existed. “But not for some time. _Lothlórien_ has lost its shine and diminished. Rivendell is a tomb.” He glanced at Thrandruil. “Is there room for another here?”

Thrandruil smiled.

iv. Rivendell

“You look worn, old friend.” Elrond didn’t look up as Gandalf stood next to him. Despite the physical changes underwent, his voice remained ever the same, as did the comfort in his presence. “What troubles you?”

“Things that are beyond my control.” Elrond sighed. Standing on a terrace, he watched from a distance as his daughter read a book on a bench. How much longer would he be able to witness that sight? How much longer could he just simply open his mouth and call her?

“Ah.” Gandalf studied her for a long moment before shaking his head. “You made your choice long ago. And though you do not want to admit it, so had she.”

“I should have realized it the moment they met.” Elrond frowned, closing his eyes. “I had hoped otherwise. Her path will be a painful one, a long one, and there will be no one to comfort her in the end.”

“You are not staying then?” Gandalf asked, his brow raised.

“No, I do not think I can bear to see her hair grow white. And I do not want my sons to change their mind because of their love for the _Dúnedain_. Besides, already the world is changing.” Elrond smiled wistfully. “There is no room for our kind anymore. It is better to accept it and leave now.” Before their images of the world was tarnished, before he could see the old places wrought with ruin. He had seen what man made, what man could do, and while there were great creations, there were more often than not ruinous. Only the dwarves could match them for greed.

“Then fret not.” Gandalf squeezed his shoulder. “There are others here to comfort her. Thrandruil—” Elrond snorted. “—I know you do not like him, but he and Celeborn will still be here when her time comes. She will not go alone, forgotten and unloved.”

Elrond glanced at Gandalf. “And you?”

“Perhaps.” Gandalf only smiled mysteriously. “I cannot say where I will be or not in the years to come.”

“Father!” Before Elrond could question him further, Arwen waved to him, a smile on her face.

There would be plenty of time to interrogate a dodgy wizard in the future. For now, he wanted to soak in every moment with Arwen he could. There would be so few of them and his years too long after.

v. Shire

It was strange how empty the Baggins’ home was. Samwise had taken care of it for years and had helped his father for it even longer. It had been customary to find white-haired Bilbo in the gardens, writing the next page of his manuscript. Or Frodo puttering about, laughing about the latest prank Merry and Pippin had pulled.

Now the gardens ran wild, left unattended during their mission. That was something Sam could fix. Something he would fix.

Something he couldn’t do anything about was how silent the rooms inside were. No fire crackled in the hearth, inviting one to rest their feet and stay a spell. There was no welcoming greeting when the door opened, no soft swear from trying to open a too tight jar of walnuts. Just complete and utter silence.

Sam stood at the foyer, not sure if he should go further in or not. It had been one thing when Frodo had left him the key to the place, another thing entirely to use it. He could just sell it but Frodo’s history, his own history was too deeply tied to it.

What to do?

What to do?

Sam took a deep breath. The air smelled musty from disuse. Frodo wasn’t here anymore. He was across the sea with the elves. A place Sam could go, if he wanted to. Another decision he wasn’t ready to make. Pulling out the key, he quickly slipped out of the hole and locked it behind him.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow he’d figure out what he wanted to do with this place. To do with himself.

Today Rosie was at the pub and Merry and Pippin would be back from their travels and he could just soak in the act of living.


End file.
